Loud As The Universe
by TheBookshelfDweller
Summary: Noise is constant in this universe of theirs, alternating between a low-pitch buzz and roaring clamour. There is always heat – without it there would be no life. It spikes and falls, from petulant chills to passionate blazes, it shifts and turns and morphs, as do they. Every emotion has a wavelength and a temperature if its own. Every shift of soul sends a sound through the vacuum.


**Author's note: This one-shot was inspired by the BBC biopic "Hawking". I did my research, but considering physics was never really my forte, I apologize in advance for any mistakes.**

**Anyway, after I watched it, I acidentally stumbled upon some pictures and gifs of the "Take my hand" scene from TRF, and things started to unravel from there.**

**The usual disclaimer: for the record, if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually the owner of "Sherlock" ( I do, however, derive a great pleasure from borrowing quotes from it, so there... ;-) )**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

In 1964, two scientists discovered a noise. It sounded like static. The two scientists realised the sound was made by some sort of thermal radiation – by some sort of _heat_. It was the sound of something very, very hot. It was the sound which won them a Nobel Prize. It was the sound that would change their lives. It was the first sound ever to be made.

It was the sound of the beginning of the universe.

* * *

Cosmic microwave background radiation – leftover thermal radiation from when it all started – captured as a sound, makes for the sound of the beginning of the universe. It was produced when our universe suddenly came to be, exploded out of nothing, expanded into everything in an instant filled with immense energy and heat. That was 13.798 ± 0.037 billion years ago. Cosmic microwave background radiation is what's left of it now. The sound of the Big Bang.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, still loud, still hot, as if the start was a second ago, (and not two years ago), are the sound of the beginning of another universe. Their universe is younger, so much younger, and hotter, louder than the one within which it is contained. It's a realm of its own, and they are its leftover thermal radiation. From sub-zero to white-hot, with shifts of pitches, from wailing to a hum, they cover the whole spectrum. Octave after octave, they permeate the tonal scale.

Feel them on your skin – radiating heat. In degrees Celsius, or in Kelvin units, or perhaps degrees Fahrenheit – their temperature – they are thermal radiation.

Close your eyes, and listen to them. In decibels, in hertz units – their volume and frequency – they are vibrating atoms, fast-moving particles.

* * *

"_Use mine."_

There is a point before which there was nothing; a moment before which there was no time. It's the moment just before the universe came to be. What was there before it? Was there even a _there_ to talk about? And what was the upsetting factor that tipped the scale, so that in the next moment the _non-there_ exploded into _everywhere_? Who knows... (I certainly don't).

Good then that there is another universe to study here, with two men inside it, and a vast expanse of heat and noise, accompanying them. With them, it's not as difficult to determine when that first moment was, precisely, or what preceded it. The moment before John draws out his mobile and offers it to Sherlock, those last seconds that are needed for air to be drawn in and then expelled over his vocal cords in order to produce a sound – that is the last moment of calm, of quiet. All the moments that came before, with John walking into the lab and Sherlock casting but a glance, they were the prelude to the bang, because all up until the moment John makes his offer, they are two sets of non-there, circling each other.

Those are the last moments of peace, because then comes '_Afghanistan or Iraq'_ and '_I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?' _and '_The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street'_, and right there, in the cold hygiene of the laboratory, a rapid birth of a universe, searing and booming, takes place.

It's the beginning, and they are bright and blinding, hot with confusion (on John's part) and curiosity (on Sherlock's part) and anticipation (on both their parts). It's a newborn universe, and just as any infant, it is loud. They are at the very start, with planets yet to be formed, and only stardust at their disposal, but now there is something where, just moments ago, there was nothing. Before this point they were two men, two lives, not unremarkable, but not really living up to their full potential. Moments ago they were men, and then in the next instant they are a universe. Nothing into everything – the Big Bang.

* * *

Noise is constant in this universe of theirs, alternating between a low-pitch buzz and roaring clamour. There is always heat – without it there would be no life. It spikes and falls, from petulant chills to passionate blazes, it shifts and turns and morphs, as do they. Every emotion has a wavelength and a temperature if its own. Every shift of soul makes a sound that shoots through the vacuum.

* * *

"_There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"_

"_Will caring about them help save them?"_

"_Nope"_

"_Then I'll continue not to make that mistake"_

Anger and annoyance are red-hot, brightly burning stars that roar. Born out of disappointment and a stubborn belief, resolute in face of all contradicting evidence, they are the voice of a young universe rebelling. Everything is spinning quickly, collisions and merges occurring on a steady basis. It is hot and loud and new and thrilling and so very precious. It is a volatile, passionate place, with infant planets still uninhibited, still forming out of boiling lava and space debris and gravity, crashing into each other to create new worlds. It's an invigorating chaos that sounds like that seismic rumble of earthquakes, only louder, as it is caused by manifold impacts happening simultaneously.

They are louder than their words, louder than the piercing looks, louder than the faith they invest in each other.

They are as loud as formation of planets.

* * *

"_Alright? Are you all right?!"  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sherlock— Sherlock!" _

Fear is gleaming, radiating white light and heat in waves through the chlorine-scented space. Waves of heat flow over waves of water, and their sounds echo above the empty swimming pool. It's a close-call, a barely diverted cataclysm that could have shattered worlds and destroyed the meticulously maintained system of their cosmos. There are flares of energy, like whips of plasma on the Sun's surface, and despite their relieved laughter and off-hand remarks designed to hide the deafening sound of their startled hearts, fear and the realisation of what can be lost boom through the tiled space, vaporising water and shrouding them in a boiling mist. They are spared that day, their universe more alive than ever. They look at each other, exchanging no words, but they are loud, nonetheless – louder than their hearts, louder than gunshots, louder than explosives.

They are as loud as a galaxy.

* * *

"_Moriarty is playing with your mind, too. Can't you see what's going on!"  
"No, I know you're for real."_

There is a momentary respite from the sound and the heat, as the fear of being doubted by the single person whose faith matters, is soothed. Reassurance is cooling, but just enough to chill fear down to gratitude and devotion. Those burn differently, more steadily, and produce a pleasant hum, somewhere deep, deep within, as opposed to fear's piercing shriek.

There is inexorable loyalty, unwavering and constant like matter itself. It isn't greater than a galaxy, nor a planet. In fact, it's smaller than the smallest creature that could ever be found in any of those entities. It is minute, miniscule, but it's basic, primal and rooted as deeply as the core of each planet in their cosmos. It is the thing that makes up everything. It hums at a frequency inaudible to any ear, but one that can be felt by every heart. It is a primordial resonance, as warm as life, that can't be heard but is experienced all the same. It's a note so loud that it transcends the limits of sound itself and becomes everything. They might be soundless in that moment, but they are louder than ever.

They are as loud as matter.

* * *

"_Take my hand!"_

Tomorrow one of them will become a singularity, a mute and cold black hole, pulling into itself everything that crosses its path – light, heat, time – nothing is fast enough to escape a dead star that has collapsed on itself. Tomorrow one of them will become nothing; a nothing with gravity more forceful than that which it had in life, a pull strong enough to attract everything, swallow everything – light (_life_), heat (_love_), time (_memories_). Everything into nothing. Tomorrow their universe will fall silent, but that's tomorrow, and this is now – and now is full of heat and sounds.

It's a moment when the world is cold and dark and sharp, but they are burning – with effort, with the thrill, with fear of tomorrow and the rush of the now. They are running for all they are, running for light and heat and time, burning calories the way stars burn gases, and feeling the burn in their muscles and their lungs. Their heats combine and collide, unite in that one point of contact as their hands clasp around each other. There is an emotion clasped in between. The loudest of them all, the brightest and hottest one. Palm to palm, it's a split-second decision, and then they are running and running and burning.

And if heat has a sound, then in that moment they are as loud as the universe at its origin.

* * *

Some time ago two men made a noise. It sounded like human voices and beating hearts. It was the sound of something very, very hot. It was the sound that would change their lives.

It was the sound of the beginning of the universe.

* * *

**And this is the sound of me saying "Thank you for reading!" :)**

**Some facts to top everything off: the scientists who discovered the sound of CMB were American radio-astronomers Arno Penzias and Robert Wilson. The story of their discovery is really an interesting one, so if anyone cares to check it out, it's easily found online :)**


End file.
